Galas are the Worst
by Dickie Gayson
Summary: Luke Fox hates galas. In an attempt to avoid going to one, he fakes sick. Unfortunately for him, his act gets a little too convincing.


If you wish to send me a prompt or request, just message me here, on my Tumblr dickie-gayson, or my ao3 account by the same maybe. You can also leave a review! I'll get to them as soon add I can.

REQUEST:  
 _Hello! Request: one of the Batboys faking sick to get out of something (my first thought was a gala/party but anything you can come up with is fine). Bonus points if it spirals out of control a bit and everyone is worried so they're benched from patrol / forced to rest for several days._

I chose Luke bcus he needs more love and I feel he prob isn't a fan of galas lmao

* * *

Luke Fox _hated_ galas. He hated damn near everything about them, from the boring music to the too-expensive food and the elitists and sycophants crawling all over the place. Bruce Wayne's galas? _The Worst._ There was never more an ostentatious and wasteful display of wealth than when Bruce decided to play up the 'Brucie Wayne' role. Luke knew Bruce hated galas just as much as he did and would much rather spend both his time and money on more useful endeavors, but he needed to keep the charade up. That was why Bruce was throwing some sort of event tonight. Luke was determined to get out of it.

Could any really blame him? He's had more than his fair share of galas growing up as the son of Lucius Fox, friend of Bruce Wayne himself. One would think the annoying patrons would overlook Luke in favor of Bruce, any of his wards, or Lucius, but one would be wrong. See, Luke was a world-famous boxer and mma fighter, not to mention an early graduate of MIT with double degrees. Anyone with working eyes and even half a brain cell could see the potential in the man. So, they all but attacked him with fervor only found in those looking to climb the social ladder and elevate their status. He _hated_ that.

It was a real test of self-control not to knock them all out. Luke doubted Lucius or Bruce would appreciate that. Or Gordon, come to think of it. After all, Luke technically _was_ considered a living weapon due to his extensive, and public, physical training. Hell, Alfred might even be disappointed, and _that_ was something he couldn't stand to do to the aging butler. So, instead of resorting to suplexing someone through a table as he would like to, he figured he'd just not go. Only problem was, his father was expecting him to be there. His father and the various members of the bat-clan who were also forced into going to the hellish event. So, Luke would have to get crafty.

Coming up with a plan was simple enough. He'd just fake sick. Executing that plan was trickier, given the fact that he was surrounded by fucking super-geniuses and detectives. Luke was betting none of the other bats and birds were going to let him off the hook so easily. If one suffered, they were all suffering. He could think of it as a sort of training exercise. If he could fool them, then he was doing great. If he failed? Well, he'd be in for some shit. But hey, the reward outweighed the risk in this case.

Tampering with the thermometer was childs play. When it was to be used, it'd display a temperature between 100.3 to 101.4; sick but not hospital-worthy. The fluctuation in temperatures helped keep the act realistic. He made up a list of symptoms to keep him down and out without being too worrying. Once they all left, he was homefree. It was just a matter of making it all believable. His only real godsend was that he didn't spend too much time around the others for them to know how he acted when ill.

As the time ticked closer to the gala, he knew it was time to get the show on the road. Luke laid on his couch, just in case someone decided to spring through his window because no one knew how to _use the damn door_. He was forced to get up, however, when there was a knock on his door. With a drawn out groan, the hero shuffled his way to the door, already getting into the role.

When he swung the door open, he was met with the site of his father, dressed to the nines, and staring at him critically. That was definitely unnerving. The Bats weren't the only geniuses. Lucius was quick as a whip and observant as all hell. Not to mention, he _raised_ Luke. Tricking him was a feat. A feat he's completed before, but a feat nonetheless.

"And why aren't you ready for the gala? Don't tell me, _you're sick."_

The arch of his brow and deadpan stare Luke was getting let him know just how little he was fooling his father. Well, he better amp up his game then. He's fought harder fights than this. Luke made sure to make it seem as if he were shivering despite the warm temperature. He swallowed thickly then winced as if in pain. When he spoke, he tried to make it scratchy and quiet to really sell the whole 'sore throat' bit. Damn, maybe he should have went to Juliard, he was a _natural_.

"Yeah, sorry dad. I woulda called but I was sleeping. This is one hell of a bug, I don't wanna get you sick."

Lucius just made a low 'mhm' sound as he looked Luke over head-to-toe. The hero kept his posture somewhat hunched. Before his father could interrogate him, Tim appeared next to the older man, dressed to impress. He too looked over the clearly underdressed vigilante with intense scrutiny. There was a sharp look in his blue eyes that said he was not letting Luke get away if he was lying. That made Luke gulp, but for an entirely different reason than faking a sore throat.

"Sick?"

Luke gave an affirmative noise, not wanting to talk more than necessary. Sometimes less was better and all that jazz. That dissecting look only intensified as Tim took in his posture, rumpled pajamas, and 'shivering'. The senior hero gave him an almost cocky tilt of the head as he spoke.

"We should take your temperature, just to be sure it's not too severe."

 _'Check and mate_.' Luke moved slightly to let them into his apartment. Tim made a beeline for his medicine cabinet. The fact that he didn't need to tell Tim where his medical equipment was kept was only moderately unsettling. Luke shifted and then shuddered. To say he was nervous was an understatement. Fooling both Lucius and Tim would be worthy of a damn trophy in his opinion. Only a moment later, Tim was back, thermometer in hand.

It was the moment of truth as he stuck the thermometer in Luke's mouth. What Luke didn't count on was Tim checking his pulse as he waited for the readout on his temperature. Well, shit, _that_ wasn't part of his plan. Tim only made an ambiguous hum before taking the thermometer and reading it.

"101.2, slightly elevated heart rate, a mild cold sweat. Alright, I _guess_ you can sit this out."

Tim gave him another critical stare. Huh, for once his nervousness actually helped him out. No one pointed out that Tim was technically the youngest in the room and Luke didn't need to take orders from him. Luke could pay respect where respect was due, and Tim definitely earned it. Not to mention, he clocked more hero-time than Luke, giving him seniority in that field. Instead, he just gave a grunt.

"Great, thanks. Can I go back to sleep now?"

Both Lucius and Tim looked him over, as if searching for any hint that he was lying. Really, Luke couldn't blame them. One of them was _always_ looking to get out of these events. It was like a competition to see who could bust the most and drag them to suffer with the rest. The two shared a silent look before saying their goodbyes. He gave them weak goodbyes as he made his way to his bedroom. It'd be _at least_ half an hour before he was in the clear. No doubt someone was perched outside, watching like a creep, waiting for him to slip up by going about normally.

So, he laid down and mentally reviewed the new upgrades to his Batwing suit. In his personal opinion, the Batwing suit was sick as hell. Tights were _not_ his thing, thank you. When he was relatively confident everyone else was gone, he got up, ready to have some actual fun.

* * *

To say the night sucked would an understatement and a half. Dick had to separate Damian from the guests three times to keep him from making any of them cry. Jason was hiding in the study after he stole a full tray of hors d'oeuvres and two bottles of champagne for himself. He already made one person leave after 'accidentally' spilling a glass on their suit. Okay, maybe it was _two_ glasses. Or three. Really, who keeps count of that sort of thing? The asshole deserved it, the way he ogled Cass. She was busy charming the socialites with her graceful way on the dancefloor, so Jason decided to defend her honor without actually shooting anyone.

Tim arrived at least thirty minutes late with a look on his face that said 'I would rather be in a ditch somewhere than here'. Maybe the guests were just idiots, because they definitely loved to flock him. Almost as much as they flocked to Dick, poor guy. If there was an award for most ass-grabs avoided, he'd win it, hands down. How he managed to laugh and act like he actually liked being there, none of them could fathom. They chalked it up to his natural showmanship, because he sure bitched about the event as much as the rest of them.

Steph and Harper got passes on the event as they weren't in the public spotlight like the others. Kate just straight up refused to come and no one wanted to try and force her otherwise. They liked their jaws intact. Jason was lucky and could get away with being seen as only a family friend. Sadly, there were too many pictures of him with the others not to be known to some degree. Duke seemed damn near overwhelmed in the crowded ballroom. This was certainly not something he was used to. Dick and Jason both remembered being in that position. None of the three were from any degree of wealth, so it was definitely a culture shock to some degree. Luke was nowhere to be found. According to Tim, he was out sick. The others called bullshit.

It was around the fourth hour when everything got even _worse_. Apparently Scarecrow and Poison Ivy decided to team up and combine their scientific minds to create a toxin to poison the citizens of Gotham with. Bruce figured one of the rogues would try and cause a problem that night. Why wouldn't they? Oracle was on standby, ready to call in the big guns in case things got too out of control. Thankfully, Batwoman, Spoiler, and Bluebird were on call and managed to control the situation before things got too crazy. Seeing as Jason had already snuck away, Red Hood managed to make an appearance in an attempt to help.

What made it particularly troublesome was the toxin. It presented itself as a fast-acting sickness akin to the flu. Only, it was highly communicable through the air as well as bodily fluids and if one attempted to take medication, it would react negatively, sending the victim into anaphylactic shock. It could cause serious damage or even death if handled improperly. Even worse, it caused vivid delusions and high energy in its most infectious stage, urging the host to run about and spread it further. This was going to be a long, _long_ night. What none were expecting was the worried look Tim cast Bruce.

"Bruce, Luke was sick earlier. It's possible he was infected. Initial symptoms align with how the toxin presents itself in the early stages. Shakes, cold sweat, elevated pulse, lethargy, sore throat."

Well, _that_ didn't sound good. As Bruce worked on an antidote to distribute, he sent Tim and Jason to swing by Luke's to see how he was now. It was still unknown if the host would turn volatile if confronted and it would be better to have back up against one of their own. Especially one of their own who was very well-known to punch really, _really_ hard. The others were tasked with trying to quarantine the sick citizens and prevent further outbreak.

Tim made sure to wear a rebreather to prevent accidental infection. Jason had his helmet that naturally filtered the air he breathed. What they definitely didn't expect to see was Luke dancing around to Ariana Grande in nothing but his boxers, socks, and a button up shirt with a pair of sunglasses on. The two heroes paused in surprise as Luke continued to really get into the music. Jason made a mental note to add 'good dancer' to his hero biography. Who knows? It could come in handy. 'Good singer' could safely be left out, however. Without wasting any more time, they crept into the apartment to confront the man.

* * *

Luke damn near had a heart attack when he turned around, mid-note, and noticed Jason and Tim in his apartment, staring at him. He made a mental note to ask Oracle to look over his security because _what the fuck._ He immediately resumed his sickly stature, even though it was way past obvious he was fine. What can he say? He's committed. It was the rebreather Tim was using that made him hesitate. Rebreathers usually meant bad stuff.

"Uh...I can explain?"

Instead of answering, Tim took out a small needle from his harness. They wanted to take a blood sample. Alright, something was _definitely_ up. Jason edged toward him with caution. Both of their postures suggested they were waiting for an attack.

"Seriously, what's going on? Why do you have those masks?"

He was growing more and more nervous with each second. Jason finally spoke up.

"Ivy and Crane poisoned the city. You might have been infected."

 _Oh._ That certainly explained things. Of all nights for Luke to fake sick, those two maniacs decide to attack like this. Great. He was going to get poked and prodded for _hours_ now. Can't a guy enjoy music and dancing in his underwear anymore? Ariana Grande was his shit, and now he had to go to that dank, depressing cave because _some people_ just can't let others live.

"Guys, listen, I'm _fine._ This? It was all a lie. I just didn't feel like going to the gala. If I was sick, I definitely wouldn't be dancing around."

He straightened his posture and took off the sunglasses. There was no trace of his 'illness' anymore. Neither Tim or Jason looked convinced. Instead, Tim shook his head slowly, clearly worried.

"Delusions and manic energy. We gotta get him to the cave, _fast_."

They both moved, ready to knock him out if necessary. Rather than having to deal with that massive headache, he just sighed in defeat. There was no way he'd be able to take Jason and Tim in a fight. Hell, he was in his _underwear._ Jason pulled a surgical looking mask from one of his many pockets and shoved it toward him. Luke just groaned in slight aggravation as he put it on.

"I'm telling you, I'm _not sick_."

Instead of responding, Tim radioed to someone, probably Bruce, that they were bringing him in. Jason stood at the ready. What, did they think he was going to go ballistic and try to murder them? He wasn't suicidal, thanks. At least they let him put on pants before they dragged him to his impending doom. Either they'd find out he lied to get out of the gala or they were convinced he was sick and dying. No matter which way Luke looked, he was royally screwed. The worst part was being forced to sit in the quarantine cell for _fourteen hours_ while they ran test after test and worked on a cure for the city. It was somewhere around the eleventh hour that Luke developed a cough. He just groaned and let his head fall back against the wall. Well, this was _great_. Next time, he was just going to go to the damn gala and let someone else lie.


End file.
